Only in Fairytales
by quixoticbelle33
Summary: Christine enters a music school, torn from safety into loneliness. Then, of course, she hears a voice... Modern day.
1. A Cage

**Author's Note: Found this on my old penname, Only Erik's. Revised a bit. Cut out the crappy Erik POV chs. Will actually continue!**

The sky was dark. I took this to be a sign - a warning. As much as I did not want to be there, the place itself did not want me.

_Go, go, go, before it is too late._ The wind blew past my face, whispering, warning. How I longed to obey! I wanted to run far, far away from this looming building back to a home that no longer existed. I leaned against the car and watched silently as my aunt spoke to a small middle-aged woman. Closing my eyes, I remembered our conversation from the night before.

_"My darling, I promised your father that I would take care of you and this is the only way I can keep that promise."_

_"I can just stay here with you! We will take care of each other."_

_"I'm too old, child. You need more than what I can give you. I have heard marvelous things about this school, Christine. Incredible things. They will unleash your voice and let it fly."_

_"But what of my soul?"_

I could see the key being turned in the lock, feel the cold metal handcuffs around my wrists. A sob caught in my throat. How could Auntie Valerius think that I would be happy in this dark place? I stared up at the pointed tower, the aged brickwork, the tangle of climbing ivy. Where Auntie saw elegance and prestige, my eyes found only decay and despair.

I had never really been alone before. My mother died when I was but one year old, but my father always cared for me. We were a team, he and I. The perfect team: the traveling violinist and his singing daughter.

Then, at thirteen, I watched as fever consumed my beloved companion. I struggled in vain to comfort him, cooling his forehead with a wet cloth and making him tea. As Father foolishly rejected phones as a limitation of freedom, I had no way of calling a doctor. I couldn't bear to leave him alone, even to get help.

Then Auntie appeared from nowhere, as she often did. She had a wonderful habit of showing up unexpectedly to visit her dearest baby brother. Often she brought me sweets and pretty clothes. She was the closest thing I had ever had to a mother.

When she came, she cried out at my father's state. She dropped to her knees beside him and sent me running for a doctor. When the doctor and I returned to the house, Father was coughing blood. Auntie took my hand and led me from the room. She covered my ears to block the sound of Father's anguished moans. I had done everything in my power, but it was not enough. It was never enough.

Auntie took me in and raised me as her own. I didn't sing again for a year, and when my voice finally lifted in song, it had changed into a dull sound, a half-hearted trill. My gift died with my father.

Auntie did everything for me. She sent me to a proper school, which was definitely an improvement over Father's lessons. She bought me everything my heart desired. She kept me a helpless little girl, just as Father had. As the years passed, her age became more and more visible. When I was nineteen, Auntie celebrated her seventy-second birthday. I lived with her for another two months before she brought me there, to my prison.

Auntie shook the woman's hand and walked over to me. She placed her delicate hand on my cheek, smiling, "Come now, love, everything's arranged. Come meet Madame Giry."

"Auntie, please don't make me go in there. I'm old enough to care for myself. If you don't want me anymore, I'll live on my own. Please not here," I begged.

"Oh, never ever think that I don't want you. This is for the best. You're not nearly old enough to take care of yourself. You can't even take a drink legally!" Auntie chuckled.

"If you make me live here, I'll run away. I swear it," My voice betrayed me, making the words waver and tremble.

She sighed, "No, no you won't."

"And why not?"

"Because you wouldn't survive. I gave you everything but deprived you of so much. I've ruined you, child. Your age is nineteen, but your head and heart are barely twelve. You can't cook, and you don't know how to earn a dime. You'll learn here, Christine, learn much more than I know how to teach you."

Her words stung with truth. I would die on my own. But wouldn't I die here all the same? I wanted to be mad at Auntie. I wanted to turn and walk away from her, but the glistening of tears on her wrinkled cheeks stopped me. With a sob I hugged her tightly, knowing this may be the last time I could. She drew back after a moment and brushed the hair from my face.

"It will be alright. You'll see. There will always be some one who loves you, Christine, no matter where you go. I bet you'll love it here. You'll forget about me in a week!" Auntie smiled weakly.

I shook my head, "No, I'll never forget you. Ever. I'll write you all the time, I promise."

"I'll miss you, my dear, more than I can say. You've been my daughter. I love you, darling, don't ever forget."

"I love you, too," My voice trembled.

"Goodbye, Christine," Auntie kissed my cheek and took my hand.

"Goodbye. Thank you for everything."

Auntie simply nodded. She gave my hand a squeeze and walked away. I watched her car disappear into the distance before turning towards Madame Giry. _Madame_, my mind scoffed. _She's some sophisticate._

The woman smiled at me and gestured for me to pick up my bags. Before she began the journey towards the house, she attempted to comfort me.

"I think you will be very happy here, Miss Daaé."

I feigned a smile, but stopped as the wind's whisper flooded my ears. _Look, look, look at what the tower hides._ I obeyed and saw, in the heavily curtained window, an almost white flash of movement.

"Are there people in the tower often?" I asked.

Madame Giry paled, but quickly regained her composure, "No, don't be silly! Nothing is in that tower but cobwebs and junk."

_Yes_, I thought, _and a pale hand._


	2. Meeting

I spent only a week at the school before I was once again ripped out of familiar (if only a little) place and dropped into a new room. The other students grew jealous, for this room was something of prize in their eyes. It was larger than the others and secluded in its own corridor. The room itself made no sense. The location was undoubtedly strange, like the architect had thrown it in at the last minute with no purpose in mind. It was quite lovely, actually, but I found it odd that I should live there. Why me, and why after a week somewhere else? I didn't understand.

I soon grew lonely. I had made one friend, Meg Giry, a shy girl who lived in the nearest room. Introverted and fearful, we started the relationship cautiously. She was a sweet girl, and I liked her. Some of the other students found it amusing to remind her of her mother's position at the school and doubted how much of Meg's admittance had been based on merit. Of course, those same fools hungered jealously for Meg's incredible dancing ability.

My music lessons were going terribly. My teacher, Monsieur Dubose, hated me. It seemed his vocabulary consisted only of words of criticism. "Dreadful! Hopeless! A waste of time!"

One night I lay in my new bed, contemplating my particularly dreary day. Monsieur had sent me from my lesson early, proclaiming, "Child, there is nothing I can do with you! Your voice died long ago. This school is reserved for those who wish to make a career from their talents, but you have no hope of that. I know there are many youths who are eager to be in your place."

His words drove me to tears. Auntie sent me here with such dreams of glory and fame. How could I disappoint her so? I missed her, missed her so much that it hurt to think of home, but I couldn't leave now. Auntie had given me so much; I wanted to repay her with her wish.

There, in the dark silence of my room, I began to cry once again. All this pain for nothing. I would never grace any stage. What was the point?

Then a miracle occurred. A smooth, sweet whisper swept into the room, flooding my ears with harmonious sound.

". . .Christine. . ."

I sat up, suddenly alert.

". . .Christine . . ."

The voice grew louder, its beauty piercing my very core. Only the softest sound, yet so perfectly pitched! So wonderfully like music. My ears yearned to hear it again - to hear it forever!

"Christine!"

It struck me that the voice might want a response, "Who's there? How do you know my name?"

"Oh, Miss Daaé, I know much about you. I know you are miserable here. I know that you cry because your music teacher is a fool. You mustn't weep so. It pains me."

"You flatter me, but who are you?"

"I am there, always, if you need me. No matter where you are, I will hear and come to you if you call."

I was growing annoyed, "Yes, yes, that's all very well and good, but to what name should I call?" I laughed, sure this was nothing more than a thrilling dream, "Only a ghost or an angel could hear from anywhere and everywhere! Which are you?"

"I am both ghost and angel, but to you always the latter."

"Then, Angel you shall be. But of what, pray tell? Mind reading? That's what it seems!"

"The angel. . .of music."

"Very well. Angel of Music it is. I've heard of you from. . ." I paused, pained by the memory of my father, "my father. He spoke of you often. I am much obliged that you visit me!"

I waited patiently for a reply, but all was silent. I laughed to myself. I must have been hallucinating. I had finally going crazy! Angel of Music indeed!


End file.
